GHOST OF THE GAMES
by Vyrazhi
Summary: Enobaria is haunted by the ghost of her final kill: a former ally who is tormenting her from beyond the bloody grave of the Hunger Games arena. Can Vera Scheveningen, another victor and fledgling medium, help to save both of them? Rated T for themes, language, and Hunger Games-related violence.
1. MESSAGE

_**GHOST OF THE GAMES**_

_A Hunger Games Saga by Vyrazhi, ©2013. Hunger Games Trilogy and Characters ©Suzanne Collins. _

_(AUTHOR'S NOTE: In the first part of this chapter, the text in plain italics represents the thoughts of one of the main characters. Text in bold italics represents television announcements from the 63__rd__ Games.) _

CHAPTER ONE: MESSAGE

_**~ Vera Scheveningen, Age Sixteen, Victor of the Sixty-Fourth Annual Hunger Games ~**_

_A chessboard has sixty-four squares: thirty-two light, and thirty-two dark. _

"_**It's down to the final three, Districts Two, Four and Seven - a huge upset! Don't move a muscle." **_

_Sixteen pieces are positioned on each side of the board: eight pawns, two bishops, two knights, two rooks, one king, and one queen. As with the squares, one side is light, and the other dark - White and Black. _

"_**Statistical odds favor the be-YOO-ti-ful Astrid Burya, with her deadly aim and merciless harpoon. However, don't count Leah Alder's trusty axe out, either, or Enobaria Verus' bare hands!" **_

_The object of the game is to capture one's opponent's king. _

"_**Here comes Leah, sprinting up behind Astrid near the Cornucopia. Enobaria gives a signal." **_

_However, every piece should be considered vitally important during the course of play. Even a lowly pawn, worth one point, can mean the difference between winning and losing. _

"_**Oh, NO! Leah didn't see it, and got caught off guard! Astrid, Burya, scores, another KILL point!" **_

_Pause. 58:57. Perfect. _

Ever so slowly, I inch the digital replay of the Sixty-Third Annual Hunger Games forward. I want to try and find the exact moment when last year's winner made her fateful decision. Had she planned it all along? Had she gone into the arena with her method of victory in mind? Perhaps, but such an unprecedented act of violence was just that, even for a Career tribute. _Carefully, now. Five more seconds. Four. Three. _

"_**ENN-OOO-BARR-IA…"**_

_Two. _

"_**MO-O-OVES U-UU-UUP…" **_

_One. _

"_**A-A-AND…" **_

I brace myself for the specified moment: 59:02. I brace myself to watch Enobaria's teeth and Astrid's throat. However, before I can, I freeze. Immobile, I listen as a long, drawn-out scream paralyzes me with fear. The remote tumbles from my hand and falls to the plush carpet floor of my house in the Victors' Village. I'm not able to breathe. My pulse seems to have stopped. Even if I want to scream as well, I simply _can't. _

When I finally regain my composure - _yes, Vera, you can move, you can speak, you can act - _I pick up the remote and stare at the screen, stunned. No one had screamed. In the very second before Enobaria gave Astrid a full tracheotomy with her _mouth, _no one had said anything, not even that idiot Caesar Flickerman. There had only been silence, that of an audience waiting with bated breath to see what would happen.

As true as that is, however, it's also true that I've just heard a shriek. My attacks are getting worse.

"Did I miss a dosage?" Only the still and empty air answers me. "No, it's time." Blinking to make sure I'm truly back in the real world, I head for the bathroom (luxuriously equipped) and my medicine cabinet (far less so). There are only five items in it: cotton swabs, painkillers, sleeping pills, tiny syringes, and serum. I fill one of the syringes with the cool, clear liquid and plunge it into one of the veins in my right arm. _Ahhh…_

After I do that, there is no screaming. After I do that, for at least eight hours, I don't hallucinate at all.

Do you believe in ghosts?

I do, or at least I'm starting to. The specters that haunt me are mere illusions; so I've heard from every doctor I've visited. Terms like _schizophrenia _and _manic psychosis _have been whispered in my presence, and more often, _post-traumatic stress disorder. _None of these potential diagnoses, however, comforts me. A medical label can't disguise what I'm going through, or even pinpoint it completely. Before the Hunger Games, I was a normal sixteen-year-old girl from District Five. Now I'm a victor, and a freak to boot.

That's why I have this house, these fine fixtures, this carpet. Also, this message I'm trying not to re-read:

_64,_

_PLEASE MEET ME AT 0000 HOURS, MY HOUSE. _

_MAKE SURE YOU'RE NOT FOLLOWED. _

_BEFORE THEN, WATCH MY GAMES, ESP. 59:02. _

_CAN YOU HEAR IT?_

_62. _

Why the secrecy and coded numbers? I am _64, _of course, being that particular winner of the Hunger Games, and that means Enobaria's _62. _"Make sure you're not followed?" Why not? We victors can visit one another freely, as long as we don't cause any trouble amongst ourselves or in the Village. Something else is going on. Maybe she's afraid I'm being monitored by the physicians on my case, and if I'm seen with her, they're going to think she's crazy, too. It's possible. They haven't _certified_ me yet, but they might.

_P.S. YOU'RE NOT INSANE. _

That's a relief, especially to have someone like Enobaria say so, but I'm still worried. If it hadn't been for my exit interview with Caesar F*ckerman, no one would have been the wiser - at least, no one who didn't need to know what was going on with me. As it was, I'd started hearing the screams and voices of all the tributes who'd lost my Games, clamoring for escape and release, while only one would have sufficed. On all the cameras in Panem, I'd slapped my hands over my ears and crumpled to the floor, damning myself. That was my first _psychotic break, _or so they said, before handing me over to a competent psychiatrist.

What does Enobaria want from me?

Is she experiencing the same thing?

Sighing, I leave the bathroom and turn off the TV. I've seen enough of the Hunger Games for one day.

It's time for a nap, but even when I dream, I can't get the images of chess and _59:02 _out of my head.


	2. AUTOMATIC RESPONSES

CHAPTER TWO: AUTOMATIC RESPONSES

_**~ Enobaria Romula Verus, Age Twenty, Victor of the Sixty-Second Annual Hunger Games ~**_

"_You heard it, _right?" The live wraith at my door is as pale as the dead one who haunts me. "59:02?" She nods. "Please come in, and shut the door behind you." She does, and both of us are engulfed in utter blackness. There's no moon tonight. It's just as well, because one never can tell what Panem's security devices can see. I've searched my opulent house from top to bottom, aiming to find them, but I haven't yet. That doesn't mean they're not here. Even in the Victors' Village, the Capitol's eyes are watching you.

"As you might have guessed, I'm _62_," I tell her, "and you're _64_. Welcome." I slowly reach out my hand so as not to startle Vera, and she shakes it. "I don't want to turn on too many overhead fixtures, because -"

"A flashlight, then," she murmurs. "Or a candle, if you have one." It's a relief to know that, as one victor to another, I don't have to spell out everything to her. Maybe, after what happened in her final interview with Caesar Flickerman, she's even more paranoid than I am. If so, good, because that'll help both of us.

With only the cold glare of the Village streetlights shining into the kitchen to guide us, we work our way there. After I reach for the flashlight dangling from a plastic hook on my refrigerator, I change my mind and open a cabinet next to it. That's where I keep emergency supplies: a first-aid kit, bottles of water, pain medicine, matches and candles. I take one of the long white tapers, slide it into a metal holder, and light it after glancing once more out the window. "The coast is clear. I think my room will be the safest place."

Vera nods, her wan face illuminated in the candlelight, and then remembers something: "Wait. If I heard what I _think _I did, and investigate it further, it might help if I had a piece of paper and a pen to take notes."

"Over there." I gesture to the kitchen table with the candle, and she gathers these up quickly. "Follow me." Even though she's not a Career, my companion certainly knows how to follow orders without asking too many questions. Is this only a result of the Hunger Games, and having to make split-second decisions? I dare not even think this until we get to my private quarters. Once we do, I code-lock the door: _0-5-2-0. _The _05_ is how many people I killed in my Games, and the _20_ is my present age. We both sit down on my bed.

Vera lets out a big _whoof _of a breath and begins. "Thanks for -"

"You're welcome. I'm taking these precautions not only for your sake, but mine." After putting the candle on the nearby nightstand, I continue, "We both know that everybody thinks you're crazy, but what you may not know is why they're watching _me_ like a hawk. See these canines?" I lean close to the flame and smile. "They're gold-plated, on special request from President Achlon, to symbolize my triumph. That means I have the strongest teeth of any victor in this Village, but no one wants me to _use _them except for eating."

"Would you?" she asks after a very long pause. I don't answer, because I'm not ready to yet. "Why would President Achlon want you to do that? It's…" She doesn't say _insane, _but I suspect that she wants to.

"I don't know, but his grandmother, for whom he was named, also led Panem. Her last name was Achlys, and she was -" I shudder and shake my head. "Anyway, if we're quiet, we'll be able to talk without alerting anyone or anything." I stare Vera in the eye. She doesn't flinch. "I called you here because you _heard." _

"The scream," she whispers, "at fifty-nine minutes and two seconds into your final Games. It was Astrid."

"Correct. I'm glad you watched them." After entwining my fingers together so hard that they hurt, I go on. "The thing is, you and I both know that Astrid didn't scream until I - well. Still, the sound is there _before_ that moment, and only we can hear it. That means Miss Burya is either a hallucination, as some of our fellow Hunger Games winners accuse you of having, or something else." I paused. "A ghost, is what I mean."

"I've thought the same thing. Maybe my psychiatrist and psychologist are right, and I should be locked up. However, what do Capitolites think their gilded cage is that they've built me - a hotel?" Vera smiles thinly.

"For the sake of argument, let's say we're right on the other count, and Astrid _is_ a ghost. Other than your ripping out her throat, why do you think she could be haunting you? You killed four others…" Trailing off, she looks confused, and then her hand drifts to the paper. I don't interrupt, because something strange is happening to Vera. As if it had a will of its own, her right arm jerks and moves pen across page, slowly at first, and then practically streaking across it. I clench my hands into fists and try not to react, but prepare myself for a possible blow. Vera's eyes are completely blank, and she's not looking at what she's writing.

When her hand finally stops, I take a glance at the mark-strewn page: _WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY?_

I clasp her wrist firmly, but don't intend to hurt her. "Vera? Do you know what you just wrote?" She shakes her head, looks down, and recoils from her 'notes', completely horrified. "It's all right; let's calm down." Once both of us are breathing more evenly, I tell her, "My attack was an automatic response, just as I suspect your writing was. If Astrid Burya wants to talk, maybe this is her way of doing so, sick though it is."

My fellow victor's mouth falls open. "I don't think I want to do this anymore."

"_Please. _If she doesn't kill me first, I know Iwill." Silence enfolds us in the darkness. Unlike in the kitchen, I have the blinds of my bedroom windows closed, so the only lights are the red numbers from my alarm clock and the candle flame. "No one else can help. The sleeping pills do sometimes, but not always."

"You're saying that…killing Astrid in the way you did…was _automatic?" _A pause. "I don't believe it."

"You might if you were a Career. Besides, we know full well that when someone else is trying to attack us, our muscles do the thinking instead of our brains. They react faster than we ever could if we took the time to ponder what we're doing. 'Muscle memory' is a very fitting term. I've been trained since birth to fight in the Hunger Games, and have practiced so much that I can't _not_ kill. However -" I swallow hard. "With my bare hands, I could have punched or strangled her instead. Why didn't I? What filled me with so much hate, or rage, that the only thing my muscles could 'think' of to do was to tear out Astrid's throat _orally?" _

I give a start as Vera flips the paper over, exhales raggedly, and begins to write again: _TELL HER. _

"Everything?" I ask, my voice a rasp. The bottomless pit of dread that used to be my stomach replies _yes. _


	3. THRESHED

CHAPTER THREE: THRESHED

_**~ Vera Scheveningen, District Five Female Tribute, Reaped in Month Five of Year Sixty-Four ~**_

"_How much _do you know about Career training, other than what I've just told you?" Enobaria asks me.

"Not a lot. From profiles on TV, I've gathered that it's almost as bloody and brutal as the actual Games."

My predecessor smiles, although without exposing her teeth. "Another exaggeration from our ever-reliable media. We're not permitted to use real weapons until the very end of our training, during the threshing brawls, and that's most likely what you saw. I'm a little surprised they would broadcast such footage, but then again, what better way to gain publicity than to be shown dueling and slaying your own classmates?"

Despite myself, I blink and shudder, but I don't know if Enobaria's seen it. After all, when your only source of illumination is a candle flame, it's hard to notice body language that you would see in full light. What's making me more uneasy: knowing that the threshing brawls themselves happen, or the possibility that they're recorded and broadcast for everyone in Panem, even children, to see? Regardless, I feel like a fool right now instead of a victor. People like us aren't supposed to be weak, yet here I am. To distract both myself and Enobaria from my sudden display of cowardice, I ask the ghost: "Were you threshed?" I let my mind go blank, emptying itself of my own thoughts, and feel my right hand drifting to the paper.

_YES. _

"Does Enobaria remind you of someone that you fought and killed during one of the brawls?"

_YES. _

"Is that why you're haunting her?"

_NO. _

After I write this negative response, brought forth not from my own mind but from a place far beyond it, I draw an asterisk next to it. _Hmm, _I think, coming to myself. _This "no" must have a further explanation, but what's the right question to ask Astrid in order to help her give it? I'll just wait for her. _Nothing more is heard, however, except our breathing in the dark. I'm scared, and want the answers to come soon.

Enobaria leans forward and peeks at what I've written. "After all we went through in the Games, that's far from the only reason," she murmurs. "I betrayed Astrid, and not just in one way, but the story is long."

My hand _automatically _finds itself tapping the pen insistently on one of the _YES's. _"Could you start with telling me more about the threshing brawls? I've never heard of them, and they weren't called that on TV."

An eerie silence ensues, and then: "They wouldn't be. The Capitol would have you believe we Careers kill each other every day, or at least try to, but that's not true. Unlike what you might see on the screen, the violence at our Training Academies is restricted to sparring with training weapons and aiming to maim, not murder. We are to progress through three tiers, eventually reaching the highest level of first tier. Only then, during these final trials, may we finally slay those unworthy to volunteer for the Hunger Games."

This idea makes perfect sense - _survival of the fittest. _All the same, it gives me chills. "So, you and Astrid fought in the brawls as first-tier tributes and won, therefore becoming your only female District volunteers."

"Correct. However, Astrid was from District Four, and I from Two. We first met at the Capitol, of course, and formed an alliance with the rest of our fellow Careers. We always stuck together until the very end."

Gripping the pen as hard as I possibly can, so much that it hurts, I almost puncture the page:

_LIAR!_

When Enobaria speaks next, her voice quivers. "It really must be her, then," she says, frightening me even more. "Unbeknownst to Astrid, I had formed another alliance before the Games even began. Leah Alder, from District Seven, was whom I promised that I'd take to the final two. I told Miss Burya the same thing. I wanted to duel Leah in the final battle, and not Astrid, whose true nature I'd only recently discovered."

"Which is…what? Evil?"

She lets out an indulgent chuckle, the kind a mother would give to a child who's said something cute but naïve. "You'd be surprised how _relative_ a term that is when your life's goal is to survive a fight to the death. For example, in and of itself, do you believe that murder is evil?" I nod. "What are kill points but rewards for committing it? What about treachery and deception?" Feeling ashamed, I nod again. "You see? Ordinary people and even the Capitol can preach these standards of morality, defining right and wrong. However, in the Games, morality is null and void. How is it that, as a victor, you haven't realized this yet?"

"I have," I hiss through clenched teeth, "but I'm certainly not proud of what I did to live. _You_ are."

Enobaria falls silent. She lets the hostile spirit do the talking, making me underline _LIAR_ three times.

"If I'm a liar," the dark-haired beauty says slowly, "then you, Astrid, are naught but a sore loser. The Academy Training Arena isn't the only one in which you were threshed. Why won't you leave me _alone?" _

Without any sudden breeze or breath doing so, the flame of the candle is immediately extinguished.


	4. THE GAMES, THE GEARS, AND THE GRINDSTONE

CHAPTER FOUR: THE GAMES, THE GEARS, AND THE GRINDSTONE

_**~ Enobaria Romula Verus, District Two Female Tribute **_

_**Volunteered in Month Five in Year Sixty-Two ~**_

"We are threshed like wheat, until there are only two first-tier Careers per District left," I tell Vera. "That's how it's supposed to happen. Unfortunately, two years ago, it didn't. I was the only one of that tier who survived the brawls, and so there was no male who would be chosen to volunteer for the Hunger Games. My District partner, Coronus Casca, was reaped, and not only on that certain day. He was killed in the bloodbath." I can't see my companion's face, but I suspect her mouth is agape in horror. "Anyway, that's another story. You may be wondering how it relates to Astrid, but be patient. Both she and her partner emerged as victors from their threshing, as did the two Careers from District One. Among ourselves, I was the odd one out, among the other kernelswho would face the grindstone of preparing for the Games."

"If Astrid was loyal to her District partner from Four, how did you get into such a close alliance with her?"

"There is a bond even stronger than that of being a Career, and that's the one of being female." I relight the candle, more for Vera's comfort than my own, because I can hear her quivering breaths. She's trying to hide this, but isn't succeeding. "You might say I was drawn to Astrid from the start. Whether they're of our caliber or not, male tributes always think they have a better chance of winning the Hunger Games than we do. Astrid's partner was of this mindset, which annoyed her. Thus, she began to trust me more than him. As for the girl from District One, she was a spoiled little princess, even for a Career. Astrid wasn't. She knew what it meant to weather storms, and I could see it in her eyes. They were the same sea-gray."

Driven by the vengeful spirit of our _visitor, _Vera's hand pens a filthy word beginning with _L _on her paper.

"_No, _you wicked fiend!" I tear the page away from her with unexpected ferocity and crumple it. "I was drawn to you in quite another way, that of two potential victors to each other, and you know it!" Seeing Vera's wide eyes, I hold up my hands to reassure her. "Never mind. I'll get you another piece of paper." I pick up the candle from the nightstand and head for the kitchen. When I return, Vera is silent and still.

"Here." I hand her the first of a small stack of sheets, and she gingerly takes it. Is she more frightened of the ghost, or of me? "I didn't mean to call you a wicked fiend, only Astrid." She nods, but hesitantly. Maybe Vera thinks I might have called her that for writing down an epithet in reference to me. "It's all right. Let's continue, if you would, because there's a lot more to tell when it comes to this…sordid tale." Yes, _sordid _is the right word. It means _dirty, squalid, _and _arousing moral contempt. _When it comes to my former alliance with Miss Burya, all three adjectives apply. "I'm not sure where to start, because I don't know where the real beginning is. Vera?" She seems to be drawing something. I lean over and behold a pair of gears.

"The grindstone." I breathe a heavy sigh. "That's as good a place to begin as any. We trained together, but before that, we were introduced to one another at the Capitol's Training Center for tributes."

"I've been there, so I know what you're talking about. It chews you up and spits you out if you're weak."

Which makes me wonder: _How come it didn't do that to you, Vera? You're as fragile-looking as a crystal vase, so upon what inner reserves of strength did you draw? _"Just like the Games themselves," I said out loud. "The truth is, as soon as Astrid and I shook hands, I caught a glimpse in my mind of how to kill her. _Go for the neck. _I eventually did, but not in the way I intended. Either she'd be an ally or a threat to me, as would the other four Careers, but even more so. There was an intensity I sensed in her that I didn't in the others. They were there on business, as was I, but Astrid? She was there for a far greater purpose."

In a thin, spidery script, Vera spelled out seven letters in the quivering candlelight: _REVENGE. _

"That's what you want against Enobaria, isn't it?" she asks the empty air. "However, were you seeking this before you even met her?" Her pen tapped the gears three times. "Does that mean _yes? _If so, why?"

"I'd like to show you something, Vera." Slowly, I lift up the long black sleeve of my pajama bodysuit to reveal a chasm-like scar. The tissue is more akin to gristle on a poor-quality cut of meat than human skin.

She gasps, and I can't help but laugh inwardly. _Even though you're a victor, you're still so very ignorant._

"Remember what President Achlon keeps telling everyone, especially when productivity in Panem is low? _Rejoice and revive in the dignity of TOIL to stay alive!" _I let a low breath hiss out through my clenched golden teeth. "That's easy for him to say. He's never had to toil in one day of his sixty-two privileged years. When you're the grandson of a former President, the hardest task you ever have to perform is calling for an avox to do it for you. What's more, he doesn't understand _our_ toil - what we must do as Careers."

I lean in closer, almost touching Vera's nose with my own, to emphasize my point. She pulls back slightly. "For twelve to fourteen hours a day, we train, except when it's our day off. Even then, we have to watch previous Hunger Games for just as long, in order to try and learn some lessons from them. This didn't just happen at the Capitol's Training Center, but every day of my life since I learned to crawl. The gears you have drawn are an apt picture of such an existence. Little by little, you're _ground down _and your will is broken. You can obey and fight, or disobey and die. Independent thinkers have no place in our ranks."

After a tense pause, Vera licks her lips and swallows. "Astrid? Did you have these kinds of scars, too?"

_YES. _

When I see Vera's sweaty hand try to keep from shaking like a drunk man's, I put mine on top of hers.

"They're not just training scars," I tell her. "We were whipped, both at our own Academies and the Capitol, if our performance wasn't up to par. For us, of course, _par_ is far higher than it would have been for you."

She shakes her head slowly, over and over, as if trying to dispel a nightmare from which she's awakened.

"Why do you deny it? Has my metaphor of wheat been lost on you? We're tributes, you and I. Our blood and bones become the meal of the bread that Panem eats. _We feed its hunger _for bloodlust, and that, more than any other reason, is why I believe the Hunger Games got their name. As for the consequences of my failures, you didn't see because you were off with the Mundanes. Er - so sorry for the term."

Vera remains silent. Neither of us says anything more about the Games, the gears, or the grindstone.


	5. FORNACIS

CHAPTER FIVE: _FORNACIS_

_**~ Vera Scheveningen, Total Kill Points: One ~**_

_I suddenly hear a fly _buzzing around my head. Just as suddenly, it steers itself toward the candle. Flaring high, its orange flame engulfs the insect, which falls crisp and dead to the nightstand table.

Enobaria slams her fist down upon the hot ember of its shell, but doesn't yelp. "That's overkill, Astrid."

_Was that a warning? Will such a fate happen to you, if you don't give her what she wants?_

"So, you and Astrid Burya formed an alliance because you'd 'weathered storms' together, as you put it."

She winks. "Yes, but that's not all. We also formed a plan of how we were going to win the Games. Who were our greatest threats and most trustworthy allies? Whom would we eliminate in the bloodbath? The two of us sniffed out people's weaknesses, just like Peacekeepers' hounds. By the third day of training at the Capitol, our strategy was complete. Each of our fellow tributes had a place in it: as an eventual corpse. In the end, only the two of us would be left - or so I wanted Astrid to believe. However, I had another plan of my own. It was a contingency, and her name was Leah Alder from District Seven."

"I see. What was it that made you pick her as a 'backup', in case your original plan with Astrid failed?"

"Before I tell you that, I'd like you to tell me something, Vera: What are the main attributes of a pawn?"

My heart sinks. "I had some, and so did you." _Oh, no. I've said too much already. _"In chess, pawns are weak at first. If you can move them all the way to your opponent's side of the board, then you can promote them to any other piece, except for the King." I pause, bowing my head and remembering my own pawns. _In retrospect, they were worth more than I ever knew. They saved my life by being 'taken', not even knowing that it was I who'd set them up. In the Hunger Games, even your pawns can turn on you, and it's best to betray before you are betrayed. I've become a grandmaster, all right, but of calculated treachery. _

"That's a very good explanation of why I chose Leah. She was a pawn that I intended to promote, through helping her live through one more day of the Games. Not only did she impress me with her mastery of the axe, but with her nearly feral desire to win. Leah not only wanted to survive the arena, but to beat it."

I look up, facing Enobaria with an admiring gaze. "So far, the only one who's ever done that is you."

Her shoulders tremble with bitter merriment as she laughs soundlessly. "No one _ever _beats the arena, Vera Scheveningen, and it's time you learned that. One only defeats one's fellow tributes, and endures the Gamemakers' traps and hazards. The arena itself, as Panem's televisions will never show, is invincible." To my stunned amazement, Enobaria circles her thumb over the candle flame and doesn't flinch. "Even though you watched my Games, did you notice how it was always dark, except for periodic glares?"

Nodding, I remember another detail. "If I recall correctly, your particular arena had a name: Fornacis."

"It means _of the furnace, _and that's exactly where we were. Sure, Caesar Flickerman and the rest of the Capitolites called it 'an old foundry', but not every part of a foundry gets hot when metal is cast. _Fornacis_ did, little by little, and that's what scared us so much. At first, we thought nothing of the sponsor-bought ointment that we smeared upon ourselves every hour. We thought it was for hygiene and wound-healing, but it was actually a heat-resistant salve. Some refused to use it at first, thinking it was poison. When they saw that others didn't die, they found it a great relief as the heat rose. Of course, since our sponsors paid for the salve, some of us tributes received it hourly. Some didn't. I was one of the fortunate few."

"You were literally being _baked?" _

"Like bread, or molten like iron. The foundry - the furnace - had countless twists and turns, secret "cooling rooms", hidden corners, traps, and crevasses into which we could fall. It was horrific, but what made it even more so was how slowly the temperature increased. None of us realized what was going on at the beginning. We were confused at why there was so little light in this 'foundry' made of metal, but as the heat grew, so did the level of illumination. On the last day of the Games, where there were only five of us remaining, I had blisters up and down my arms and legs despite the salve. It literally saved my life."

_I'll bet…Is it getting warm in here? One candle can't be generating that much heat. I'm feeling sticky. _

_No. Oh, no. _

_Astrid wants revenge, and she wants Enobaria to burn. If I'm not careful, I will along with her. _

_Still, if that's true, then why did Astrid blow out the candle in the first place? Is she just toying with us?_

"Blow out the candle," I tell Enobaria. "I think our visitor wants to make this place a furnace of her own."


	6. BLOODBATH

CHAPTER SIX: BLOODBATH

_**~ Enobaria Romula Verus, Total Kill Points: Five ~**_

_A furnace, eh? _Nothing can compare to the one I endured, or to the bloodbath that turned up the heat.

"During the Hunger Games themselves, there were three pivotal points in my relationship with Astrid. The first was, of course, the bloodbath at the Cornucopia. When it happened, I don't think any of us suspected the actual purpose of the arena. If it looks, smells, and operates like an abandoned foundry, then…"

_It's too dark in here. I can't even see my own hand in front of my face, let alone Vera's face. _Even though my next risk is a huge one to take, I must, because I can't stand the suffocating blackness around me. Slowly and carefully, I pull a small metal flashlight out of the middle drawer of the nightstand. It's big enough to illuminate the space around the two of us, but not my whole bedroom. _What can Astrid do? Its bulb is hot, or will eventually become hot, but flashlights have cases to make them cool to the touch. _

"Do you think we're doing a good-enough job of protecting ourselves from surveillance?" asks Vera.

"We'd better, or the Capitol will interrogate both of us. Who knows what we'll be able to hide from their probing psychologists? If we tell them the truth, we'll end up in a covert 'behavioral health center' for life."

When I turn on the flashlight, Vera shudders. "Trust me, you don't want that to happen. Although I was kept for observation in one of the out-in-the-open mental hospitals, my _treatment_ there was harrowing. Imagine what it would be like if we were sent to one of the places that aren't even mentioned in official Capitol directories, much less in polite conversation." Composing herself, she asks, "What about Astrid?"

"Ah." To illustrate my next point, I turn down the flashlight to its absolute lowest point before being off. "This was the level of illumination inside the foundry at first, when it was time for the Games to start. It was so dim that we could barely see the Cornucopia and the supplies in it, let alone each other. As you know, all tributes are numbered, but even those weren't good guides as to who was who. You know what was? Our voices. Astrid's had a timbre as clear as a seagull's cry. It was practically the only thing that saved us during the bloodbath." My companion nods, and I find my mind falling, plummeting back to that moment:

_Screams. Shouts. Bones breaking, and skin being sliced. The stench of blood, sweat, and excrement. _

"_Astrid!" _

"_Hey-oh!" The sound of her call is interrupted by the THWACK of her harpoon piercing another's throat. Despite all the chaos and clamor of bloodsport, we manage to play a game of "Marco Polo" in order to avoid killing each other. While fighting for survival, we ask and respond, our voices a lifeline of sound. _

_After it's over, or as 'over' as such a massacre can be, Astrid and I clasp hands and race deeper into the foundry. There is a long metal tunnel between the starting area and the rest of the arena. To us it seems infinite. To add to the terror of being enclosed in such a lightless space with no end in sight, the clanging footfalls of the other tributes remind us of just how much danger we're still in. I don't want to die in here. _

_Once we're out, we flatten ourselves against the nearest wall while the other tributes rush forward. I can't remember how many emerged from the tunnel - ten? Twelve? Regardless, nearly half have lost their lives. _

"_What stuff did you get?" Astrid whispers, hissing in my ear. _

"_Two one-liter water bottles, a bottle of painkillers, and a tube of healing salve. You?" _

"_Blanket." Even in such poor lighting, I can see my ally's triumphant, leering grin. "And three kills." _

_Smile. Teeth. Those white teeth. Astrid comes from the sea, and she's a shark on land. Those TEETH - _

"Enobaria? Are you all right?" Vera's gentle voice jolts me back to reality, and I unwittingly jump. "Sorry!"

"Don't be. The bloodbath, that massive murder spree, was when I first learned Astrid's true capabilities. Because I'd been busy gathering supplies before the other tributes could, I'd only killed one of them. She, while managing to grab a blanket, had eliminated three of our fellow competitors with her harpoon." After a brief pause, I continue, "Before you ask, not all of them were weak. The boy she'd killed, from District Ten, had spent his life tending livestock and doing hard manual labor. I knew then I'd underestimated her."

_Perhaps that's why she wants to kill me. Perhaps that's why she wants to see me go up in smoke. _

My eyes widen as Vera pens three words on her, in that same spidery handwriting: _NOT ALL. TELL. _


	7. REGRET IS UNPROFESSIONAL

CHAPTER SEVEN: REGRET IS UNPROFESSIONAL

_(AUTHOR'S NOTE: The title is taken from a quote said by "M" in the James Bond film SKYFALL, ©2012.)_

_**~ Vera Scheveningen, Allies: Devon Carter (District Five), Cassie Bedistor (District Three) ~**_

"_So, I take it _that Leah Alder got out of the tunnel as well as Astrid." Enobaria nods. "Did Astrid suspect?"

"Not at that point. She was concentrating so hard upon surviving the early stages of _Fornacis _that the later ones were 'on her back burner', so to speak." Noticing the dark pun in her statement, I cringe. "This is an advantage and a weakness. As we both know, the bloodbath is the most horrific part of the Hunger Games. There's no time for strategizing. Furthermore, with the dimness of the 'foundry' making it hard for everyone to see, we could hardly tell our friends from our foes. Astrid and I were lucky, but we heard a few tributes weeping over the allies they'd accidentally killed. That made it easier to locate and kill them."

_Did I just get hit in the face with a brick? It sure feels like it, but it's not Astrid who's doing the hitting._

"Are you kidding me?" I ask Enobaria.

"You forget: In the Hunger Games, and especially for Careers, regret is unprofessional. We're trained to kill, just as other people are trained to sew uniforms in District Eight, or shovel manure in Ten. It's nothing personal, or at least it shouldn't be. What's the difference between what we do and any other occupation?"

"Other occupations, with the possible exception of Peacekeepers, aren't based on death and violence."

"Oh-_ho! _Point taken, Scheveningen, but why do you say _possible? _When you get right down to it, and push comes to shove, Peacekeepers don't keep the peace at all. They arrest suspects with impunity, and often without warning. Once they take these alleged criminals into custody, do you think they feed them caviar and champagne? Beatings, cramped cells, intense interrogations, and sleep deprivation are their daily bread." Putting the flashlight directly up against her square-jawed face, so that I'm sure to see it, Enobaria goes on: "Besides, why are you acting like you're such a saint? I may have slain more than you, but you're also a murderer."

"_I regret mine, and you don't!" _I slap both hands over her mouth, remembering too late to be quiet.

"Impressive, Vera. You've just condemned both of us, unless someone at the Capitol who monitors the Victors' Village is asleep at the switch." Almost before I can react, Enobaria reaches across her bed and grabs me. We wrestle against one another, slapping and scratching, but the senior victor quickly gains the upper hand. "Do you yield?" she growls, with her knees on my chest. I nod, and she climbs off. "Now, you listen here. Just because I've been trained not to feel regret for what I've done doesn't mean I _don't. _See this cut you've given me on my face?" She traces it with a finger and rubs sticky fluid on my nose. "What's that? It's not water. It's blood, and you know full well that underneath all this killer's sinew, I'm still human."

Vanquished, I look up at Enobaria and blink. "Is that why you didn't kill me just now, or is it only because I have the ability to speak to Astrid?" My opponent recoils, and I instantly rue what I've just said. _"Wait!" _

"No. Never apologize for what you believe, and fighting for it - even if it's slightly misguided." When she shines the flashlight in her face again, the streak I've gouged in her right cheek is black instead of red. Despite our cover being blown in front of any security devices, Enobaria pulls a tube of antibiotic ointment out of her nightstand drawer just as carefully as she would have if we were still completely safe. As she applies it to the cut, I want to help her, but restrain myself. I'm afraid that she'll try to attack me again.

"I'm sorry, Enobaria. Now we're both going to get hauled off to an insane asylum, and it's all my fault."

"Perhaps not. I have a certain amount of influence as one of the most popular victors of all time, and most feared. Still, it might not be enough to keep us out of the loony bin if the Capitol really wants us there." She sighs, weary not just of the Games and our encounter, but seemingly of the world itself. "You know what? Perhaps this whole situation with Astrid is merely my guiltmanifesting itself, and nothing more. Regret may not char a fly or blow out a candle of its own volition, but I can't think of anything else that would. Maybe I did those things and don't even remember them, because my mind was floating off somewhere else. Goodness knows it has been over the past several months. I'm trying not to think about mentoring, although another Reaping Day is coming up soon. What about you? Has _your_ regret done anything?"

"Other than give me nightmares about Cassie Bedistor, an ally from District Three that I killed? Not at all."

_Silence. _"Did you betray her, like I did Miss Burya?" asks Enobaria in a reserved voice.

"In a way. One of the other tributes, the tall and muscular boy from District Twelve, took her hostage. I had a long-range battery-powered whip. Before I could use it on him, he grabbed Cassie and told me to run."

"Why didn't you?"

"He was an expert in throwing knives, being an illegal hunter. I didn't want to turn my back to him. I tried to take him out with my weapon, being the only electrified one out of the whole Cornucopia supply, but I missed and electrocuted Cassie instead." I fight back tears. "I didn't even get revenge. Two killed him."

"You mean one of the Careers from District Two." I nod. "We're incredibly good at handling retards."

_That word crawls under my skin. _"He was a person, just like you, and - oh, what's the use? I hated him!"

"Now we're getting somewhere, both of us, but I would like to get back to Leah Alder. I chose her because those such as I learned two proverbs as soon as we could talk: _Two are better than one, _and _don't put all your eggs in one basket. _Leah was a hedge bet, one that I believed I could trust, and could also defeat."

"Like me?" Once more, I feel like a sniveling child in front of Enobaria instead of one of her peers.

"Yes, like you, although Leah had far more physical strength. Your brilliance lay in your strategy, Vera."

For some reason, I'm not in the mood for compliments, so I look her in the eye. She holds my gaze.

A harsh knocking, as loud as if the door were going to be splintered, interrupts both of our thoughts.


	8. FATE AND FACADES

CHAPTER EIGHT: FATE AND FAÇADES

_**~ Enobaria Romula Verus, Allies: Leah Alder (District Seven), Astrid Burya (District Four) ~**_

_There is no way _that I'm going to answer the door. I wait to see if the pounding is repeated, but it isn't. _Odd. If someone's there, especially at this time of night, you'd think they'd knock again. _I turn my flashlight off for good measure. Vera and I wait tensely in the darkness, not even breathing, for at least a full minute. My muscles are as taut as those of a lioness about to pounce, and I wonder if she feels the same way. The air in my bedroom is muggy and stale, and I almost want to open the door to let in fresh air, but dare not. Neither of us says anything, and when I think it might finally be safe to turn the flashlight on, I do.

_KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK!_

_Click. _Off it goes again. I listen for any further sounds, such as the shouts of Peacekeepers. Nothing.

"Just a second. We should check this out," I manage to whisper. "Wait right here; I know the code." For some reason I trust Vera enough to talk to her about being haunted by Astrid, but not enough to let her know the password to my bedroom door lock. I step toward it and am grateful for the glow-in-the-dark keys on its keypad as I press _0-5-2-0. _When I open the door, nobody is waiting behind it. _Maybe they turned and fled down the hallway. _I turn the nearby dial switch for the hallway light to its dimmest point and find no one. More perplexed than ever, I turn off the light and rejoin Vera, who is holding my flashlight.

"Who was it?"

"No one, or at least no one I could find in these few moments. I definitely heard someone knocking, but if it were a thief or marauder, wouldn't they have barged in here by now and tried to attack you?" Vera nods. "I hate to think that I might be hallucinating. With all of the medications I'm on, maybe it's a side effect."

"I don't think so. I also heard it, and the only meds I take are painkillers and, well, an anti-hallucinogen."

"When's the last time you had a dosage of the latter?"

"Four o'clock this afternoon, since I have to inject it every eight hours. I'm usually in bed by now, and I take a dose right before then so I don't have so many nightmares. I should have brought a syringe with me."

_Great. Ghost or no ghost, we both seem to be losing our minds. _"Never mind for now. I don't hear anything else, which I definitely would if a burglar would have gotten in the house. Let's focus on some other things, like -" _Music. Wait, what? _"Vera? How much do you know about music, especially the instrumental kind?"

"Quite a lot, if you're talking about _elec-tech. _I can name almost any band and song within that genre."

"No. When I say 'instrumental', I'm talking about instruments that people played before Panem existed, or so I've heard. We Careers, despite our harsh lives, had certain privileges that people in other Districts don't. One of them is to listen to music that no one else has even heard of, because for some reason, it's _classified. _One of our Hunger Games training montages, which almost no one else in Panem gets to see, featured the bloodbath from the very first Games. All the carnage was set to a haunting, wordless tune. It began and ended with sharp notes. The first eight sounded exactly like someone knocking: _Da-da-da-dunnnn! Da-da-da-dunnnn! _As old as it was, the recording was filled with crackles, but it impressed us just the same. I asked our trainer, Flavius Gratis, what it was. He called it 'Number Five,' and said…"

"Yes?"

My throat feels tight. "He said the composer believed it was the sound of Fate knocking at his door."

"Fate, eh?" Vera's voice wobbles. "Whatever, or whomever, was at our door, it certainly scares me."

As if to emphasize her point, the wick on the candle is instantly re-lit, and my flashlight turns itself off.

"What the _hell?!" Click. Click. Click. _No matter how hard I try, the inner bulb remains dark. _Dead battery? _

"Astrid," my companion says slowly, "if we tell you everything, will you promise not to burn us to death?"

She takes up pen and paper again, this time with a new sheet, and writes: _PROMISES ARE FASSADS. _

"What on earth are those?" Vera asks once she's finished. _"Fuh-sads? _Does that rhyme with _the lads?" _

I can't help laughing. "Since when does someone from the Fishing District, even a Career, know how to spell that particular word correctly? She means _façades: _the fake fronts of buildings, or anything false that conceals something true. In the Hunger Games, promises are indeed façades, but they're necessary."

"Like the promises of loyalty that I gave my allies, and the ones that you gave yours - including Astrid."

"Exactly. This means no matter what we may reveal, especially in my case, that doesn't mean our _visitor_ will guarantee our safety in case of fire." I say these last four words with more weight and less speed. "Still, I believe we have a chance if we talk. What do you know about the very first Hunger Games?"

"They were almost over in ten minutes flat, because the bloodbath caused too many casualties."

"Twenty out of twenty-four!" I almost scream. "Barbaric, and all because the prevailing ethos was 'every man for himself'. The Gamemakers wanted to see _sport, _not slaughter, but how could they have their fun with four tributes left? From those Games forward, alliances were not only encouraged, but mandated. Otherwise, who would survive to fall to the Gamemakers' traps, and provide entertainment for Panem?"

"You're right. Still, only one person can win, and Astrid should have known better than to trust you."

"So I thought as well, but the second turning point of our relationship made her forget that piece of advice."

"What could make her do that, since in the Games, trust can equal death?"

_Did I just hear thunder rumble outside? _"Before I go on, did you hear that?" Warily, my compatriot nods. _A storm is coming, and based upon who might be in the room with us right now, it's just as well. I'm shaking. _

"Let me tell you something about façades. Whether you know it or not, you're living behind one right now. All victors do. We have to keep acting like we're strong, and pasting plastic smiles on our faces, so that Panem won't know we're total shipwrecks underneath. The reason I'm so paranoid about not being under surveillance here is that my _associates _already suspect I'm slipping. They've seen my façade crack, and unfortunately for me, they're Capitolites. I'm afraid I won't be viewed as a 'good' victor for much longer."

Vera snorts. "What could be worse than losing it on camera, and bawling in front of millions of people?"

"Making one too many barbed remarks at a soiree just for you, and all of your hallowed sponsors. Money is the lifeblood of Panem, and there came a day just last month where I almost bit the hands that fed me. You were partially 'excused', at least by the Capitol, because you were weak compared to tributes such as I. I know that you're facing a horrible fate if they send you away to a 'behavioral health facility', but if I'm not careful, that could happen to me. Jokes aren't jokes if their intended targets are as rich as Caesar."

"So you went to a party and shot your mouth off. Does that make you insane? _No," _Vera snarls. "Façade, my rear! My gut tells me that the Capitol knows something else about you, so what is it? No more lies."

"I have never lied to you, Vera Scheveningen. I haven't told you the whole truth, but now I shall. If you're going to help me against Astrid, it's time you knew what really happened in the bowels of _Fornacis. _I already have one strike against me, with my display of wit. The second is my conduct in the Games."

"What did you do, other than win?" Her tone, which had been glacial a moment ago, has thawed a little.

"I led Miss Burya astray in multiple ways, and one of them is decidedly _against_ Capitol regulations."


	9. SELF-SABOTAGE

CHAPTER NINE: SELF-SABOTAGE

_**~ Vera Scheveningen, Arch-Rival of: Celeste Via (District Six Female Tribute) ~**_

"_I thought there _were only three rules to the Hunger Games: one victor, all attacks are allowed, and don't eat the other tributes. Which one of those did you break?" Remembering Enobaria's teeth, I shudder.

"There are other rules that still apply, meaning those under which we live on a regular basis," she replies. Do you recall the execrable word beginning with _L_ that Astrid had you write?" I nod uneasily. "I suspect that, rather than applying to me, that epithet refers to my former ally. Throughout our training, I'd catch her staring at me and pretending not to. Astrid seemed to be more than casually impressed by my physique. She herself was no slouch when it came to training, so why was she distracted by watching me train?"

"Although you're a Career, you have a certain quality that sets you apart." _Why do I sound so dodgy? _

Enobaria laughs. "Indeed I do, or else she - and you - wouldn't be so drawn to me." I give a start. "Don't be defensive; I wasn't meaning to insult you. Even in this near-darkness, you can't keep your eyes off of me, and it's not just because of my teeth. Is it?" I bite my lower lip nervously, not even daring to respond. "I thought not. Relax, Vera. For some strange reason, I feel the same way about you, and it's not only due to your white-blonde hair. We're magnetic, you and I, or rather, I'm the magnet and you're a piece of steel."

_An apt comparison. _"So, you believe Astrid was a l -" I almost bite my tongue. "What made you certain?"

She raises an eyebrow. "I have a chess question first: What makes you certain that you'll win a match?"

"It depends on the position of the pieces, both white and black. Another way that I know that the game is in my favor is if my opponent starts making mistakes and sabotaging himself. Sometimes I don't have to work too hard to win, because the player opposite me makes it so much easier. Is that what happened with Astrid?" _I have to be very careful with my words here. _"Did she start acting…contrary to regulations?"

"Not initially, but I helped her do that. You'll be surprised how such small gestures as bending over to tie your shoes and applying heat-resistant salve can be magnified until they look like big _advances." _Enobaria winks. "I made sure to do these things while Astrid was looking, and when there was a lull in the action."

"You _seduced _her?" I ask, my mouth falling open.

"You're assuming, first of all, that I was interested in her as more than a temporary ally. I was not. Secondly, seduction implies that the seducer is interested in sexual conquest, whereas mine would be of a different sort. I wanted Astrid to betray herself, and lose her composure little by little so that I could take advantage of it when she was weak. As you said, only one tribute can be victor, and I wanted to lower her defenses. At first, she was unsure of my attitude toward her, but as the Games progressed and _Fornacis _got hotter, Astrid began to believe exactly what I wanted her to believe. Then came a near-disaster."

'_Fornacis' isn't the only place where the heat's being turned up. _"I'm going to blow out the taper again." With a _foof _of exhalation, I try to do so, but its flame is instantly re-ignited. Five more times, I attempt to extinguish it, but the wick flickers back to life like the one on a novelty birthday gag. "What the flying…?"

Enobaria glances over toward the keypad of her bedroom lock. "Hey, why aren't the keys glowing? Candle, please." I hand it over, and she rushes over toward the door. I hear her punching the buttons down frantically. "My code's not working. The lock seems broken. I'll kick down the door. Try the window."

I raise the blinds and try to unlock it, but I can't. I push with all my might against the mechanism, and then pull, but neither strategy is successful. In the meantime, my fellow victor is trying to smash her door to pieces with her powerful drop kicks. "This thing's made of wood, not metal! Break the window, quickly!" I certainly give my all in the endeavor, throwing various objects from Enobaria's nightstand at it, but fail.

"We're trapped," I murmur as I feel myself tumbling into an abyss. "We're the ones sabotaging ourselves."

"Hold _on, _Vera! If Astrid wants to hear the rest of the story, then she's going to have to let us live."


	10. ARCH-RIVALS

CHAPTER TEN: ARCH-RIVALS

_**~ Enobaria Romula Verus, Arch-Rival of: Chrysolite Bezel (District One Female Tribute) ~**_

"_Astrid can't stand _either you or me, can she?" Vera asks. "That's why she's tormenting both of us."

"Losers do that to winners if they get the chance, especially if they've been scorned. _Hell hath no fury…" _

"You just told me you didn't like her in that manner, so why won't Astrid get the point and leave us?"

I smile bitterly. "Perhaps, even in death, we cling to the self-deceptions and illusions we held in life."

"I hope not." Wiping visible beads of sweat off of her forehead, she continues, "Otherwise, I'm lost."

"What? Did you honestly think that Cassie Bedistor, the tribute you 'accidentally' killed, was your friend? You might have acted friendly toward her, and vice-versa, but she might have done the same to you if you hadn't done it first. The only real relationships any of us had, and that anyone _can_ have in the context of the Hunger Games, were of hunters to hunted. We were both predators and prey, and nothing more. I can see it in your eyes: In your head, you're trying not to believe me, but your heart knows the truth. The sole honest emotions any of us felt in the arena were anger, fear, hatred, and a fierce desire for survival."

"I tried not to feel that way," Vera chokes, "especially toward Cassie, but it didn't work. I ended up insane."

"In what way? You're not spouting gibberish, or telling me that we're on a distant planet instead of Panem. You haven't broken contact with reality, only with the sweet lies that helped you before the Games." When her face crumples like an empty bag of snack chips, I soften my tone. "Come now. Aren't you better off without your falsehoods? Your parents and family may have taught you that lying is bad, murder is wrong, stealing is immoral, _et cetera, _but they haven't had to live through what you have. Those things helped you to live through the Hunger Games, and I daresay your relatives would be sadder if you were dead than if you were a killer and a thief." Vera looks stunned, shell-shocked. "Convention is a mask that melts in fire."

"The fire of _Fornacis," _she whispers, and I have to lean in close to hear her. "Where you let Astrid burn."

"Slowly and carefully. We may have been allies, but neither one of us trusted each other completely. That would have been suicidal. I let Astrid think I was attracted to her in more than a 'friendly' sense, and Astrid let me think that she wouldn't betray me before anyone else. It was highly convenient, especially when it came to dealing with our arch-rivals. Mine was the 'spoiled princess' of District One, Chrysolite Bezel."

"A Career? I guess I shouldn't be surprised. What made you despise her so much to give her that title?"

"Usually, people with a false sense of entitlement and grandiosity are annoying, but Chryso was revolting. At the Training Center, she whined and complained if she didn't get special privileges like extra helpings of food, and sulked when anyone performed better than she did at any of the training stations. She called the other tributes names that I won't repeat, surveillance or no surveillance, even some of her peers. I had Chryso at the top of my hit list from the very beginning. She knew it, too, although killing her before the lower Districts' tributes were all eliminated would mean breaking the 'Career code'. I did that anyway."

"Along with Astrid Burya?" I nod. "Did you make some sort of deal, because she had an enemy too?"

"Correct. I assisted her in slaying a sinewy little punk from District Nine, Marla Chaffe, who thought that she was talented enough to join us. I suggested to Astrid that we should let her be, because she wasn't worth our time. My ally, however, had a different opinion: namely, that Marla was indeed dangerous. 'If she can't be with us, then she'll try to kill us, and that girl is lethal with a scythe. I've seen her practice.' So went Astrid's rationale. Since I knew I might need help taking Chrysolite out of the picture, I agreed. Chryso may have been a diva, but she hadn't spent her entire life in District One's Career Academy for nothing."

Vera smiles uneasily. "Celeste Via, my own arch-nemesis, was kind of the same way. She called me 'weak' and 'feeble' because I barely had a musculature of which to speak. Celeste resented that I was on my way to the Electrical Invention and Theory Institute of my District, while she had to spend her days toiling at vehicle repairs. Celeste said I'd never done a day of actual work in my life, which wasn't true at all. Your brain can do just as much labor as your hands, and just as exhausting, if it gets the chance."

I fold my legs underneath me on the bed, in a lotus position. "Were you the one to get rid of her?"

"My District partner did, with an electrical snare so slowly painful that she slit her own throat in the end."

_Ah! Your voice betrays you. _"You sound proud, Vera." An awkward silence ensues, and I let it linger. I want her to face the reality of who she is, because she hasn't yet. "To return to my story," I finally continue, "do you know what some of my family members asked me? 'Enobaria? Why did you hate Chrysolite Bezel so much, and so quickly? You knew her less than a month.' The answer I gave them was that…"

"In the Hunger Games, everything's sped up. Normal human relationships take time, but ours didn't."

"Not only that, but our relationships were _intensified. _When you're surrounded by people you're aiming to kill, and who wish to do the same to you, you have to get to know them as completely as you can - their dreams, hopes, fears, strengths and weaknesses. True, the way they act around you might be just as fake as the promises of loyalty they give you, but sometimes, that's all you have to go on. You have no time to _think _about whether one tribute or another is sincere; you have to trust your _feelings _above all. Within the furnace, molehills turned into mountains, and petty grudges became cruel vendettas. Such things were the fuel for our bloodshed. Outside of the Hunger Games, we'd blow them off. Here, we would kill for them."

"As I wanted to do to Celeste," Vera says, her voice hollow, "and as Astrid wants to do to us."


	11. KISS OF DEATH

CHAPTER ELEVEN: KISS OF DEATH

_(AUTHOR'S NOTE: For clarity's sake, the text in __**bold italics **__is Vera's dialogue, but as you'll see, it's not exactly Vera who's doing the talking when it appears. Enjoy the final chapter of GHOST OF THE GAMES!)_

_**~ Vera Ftacna Scheveningen, Born in Month Nine, Day Eight, Year Forty-Eight **_

_**Died in Month Ten, Day Thirty-One, Year Sixty-Four ~**_

_It's not only _my imagination, or a hallucination either. It's getting so hot, here in Enobaria's bedroom, that I feel like I'm getting sunburned. It's completely dark, except for that cursed candle I can't blow out. Neither can she, and now that we're trapped inside, we're unable to keep ourselves hydrated. My mouth, which had been dry before, is absolutely parched now. I feel like I haven't taken a drink for an entire month.

"If you're going to immolate us, Astrid, why don't you just do it?" I manage to rasp through my sandpaper throat. "Are we not talking quickly enough? Besides, how in Panem are you going to set this room on fire? Both of us know full well that bed sheets and candle flames don't mix. Do you think we're morons?"

"_Shhh!" _Enobaria signals for quiet, raising her right hand high, and we both hear thunder crash. As pitiless as our _visitor _is, her cruelty is nothing compared to that of the immediate onslaught of rain. While we broil like two scrawny chickens, the Victors' Village outside is flooded with wrath from the sky. Because of our previous efforts to escape this stifling room, we're too exhausted to try again, no matter how appealing the storm sounds. "Vera," she says with an odd note to her voice, "I could endure all night, but you can't."

I touch the tender skin on my arms with the tips of my fingers, and hiss through gritted teeth. "Right."

"I'd like you to channel Astrid and ask if there's anything we can do, besides die, in order to appease her."

_Channel her? _I almost laugh, because it's as if the vengeful specter among us is a television station. Can Astrid be transmitted through digital waves, like the grisly images of the Hunger Games upon every screen in our nation? Can I "tune in" to her, like I tuned into my favorite Capitol-broadcast programs back home? I'll try, for both our lives' sake. Gingerly, I fold my sticky legs into a lotus position, as Enobaria has done. I let my eyes not only close, but become heavy. _Wait, will I fall asleep? Not a chance. It's just - too - hot. _

For a minute, nothing happens, and then I start to cough. It's a bone-wracking, dry hacking, because there is no mucus in my throat to expel. Maybe my lungs still have some, but the heat is getting to them, too.

"Vera? Are you all right?"

"I think so, but I hate to tell you that _**she's gone." **_

"Astrid Burya?"

"_**Who do you think it is? One of your admirers? Your mother, who asks such stupid questions?" **_

"Oh, you mean about Chrysolite Bezel? It seems to me that you're the stupid one. Give Vera back."

"_**Ha, ha! You wanted me, and now that you've got me, you want me to vanish again? No, victor." **_

"You spit that word like it's a curse, when you know you wanted to win the Games just as much as I did."

"_**Kiss me." **_

"_What?!"_

**_"L_ike before. When we were in the furnace, you did after we'd taken down our enemies. That Chrysolite was a close call, and she almost offed you. I had to help you bash her skull in, while you distracted her. That's the way it was, no matter how you try to deny it. You loved me."**

"I did not."

"_**You loved me." **_

"Astrid, I was _acting. _Weren't you listening at all? I manipulated you from the beginning to the very end."

"_**Why'd you press your lips to mine so hard, if you were 'acting'? Why did you take me into your arms and squeeze, like a boa constrictor who was starved to find a mate? You're a filthy liar." **_

"You are. I did that not only to thank you for your help in killing Chrysolite, but also to make you continue to trust me. After she died, there weren't very many of us left - six? Seven? It was getting close to the point when we _had_ to start turning on our allies, and I was afraid that you might betray me. Thus, I kissed you."

"_**You're not afraid of anything at all, Enobaria Romula Verus. That was why I trusted you. You had no fear, or at least you were the most adept tribute at hiding it. I wanted to be like you, to BE you." **_

"No one can be me. What you really mean is that you'd rather be anyone than a little boy's torturer."

"_**I thought he knew…" **_

"Of course you did. We tributes, Career or not, were all so desperate to locate a secret cooling room that paranoia ran rampant. By that time, _Fornacis _was so hot that we feared we were being roasted alive. We realized that the 'old foundry' was more like a 'new furnace', only the size of a Hunger Games arena. As for Filip Duvetyn? The reason he was keeping cool was that he had sponsors who adored his baby face."

"_**I DIDN'T KNOW!" **_

"Correct, and so you grabbed him first. You had some rope from the Cornucopia supplies you still carried, which came in handy to bind his wrists and ankles. You got the tip of that harpoon of yours red-hot, which was easy considering how many fire vents there were in the arena, and proceeded to interrogate the lad."

"_**I DIDN'T KNOW!" **_

"Neither did Filip. That's no excuse, and stop repeating yourself. You're sounding like a broken soundtrack to the Games themselves. I know you're dead and haunting me, but can't you do a little better? Filip kept repeating that he had no inkling where a cooling room was at that juncture. Since he had no blisters on his arms or legs, you figured he had to. The secret was in an improved salve, with mentholated properties, not in the cooling room you thought he was using to keep his temperature down. You burned him ten times."

"_**What else could I have done? I had no idea that Filip didn't know where a cooling room was!" **_

"So that's a perfectly good justification for torture? I should have slain you when I spotted you doing it."

"_**Why didn't you, then? Why did you watch and wait?"**_

"At the time, I thought Filip might know of a room. You're lucky that you didn't see me. I cooked up a plan."

"_**Your last one. Why Leah Alder? That weakling?! Was it only so she'd be easier to kill than me?" **_

"No. I knew you'd be hard, but after you tortured Filip, that was the only time I ever doubted my victory. I wanted to be in the final two tributes with someone who would rather die than become a monster like you."

"_**You're the monster. You ripped out my throat with your teeth, and that's what I'll do to you…" **_

_Blood. Pain. Throat cut. Not dead yet. Why? _

"_Please," _I beg, gazing up at Enobaria and her 'safety blade' through bleary eyes. "Finish…sacrifice."

She presses the knife, which she had snuck out from under her pillow, to my neck and kisses me.

_Checkmate. _

_**~ FIN 7-20-13 ~**_

_**NOTES ON NAMES:**_

**Enobaria: **The feminine form of the Latin name _Enobarbus, _meaning _bronze beard. _

**Romula: **From the Latin name _Romulus, _who founded Rome. I've never seen Romula in print, though.

**Verus: **From Lucius Verus, seventeenth emperor of the Roman Empire, from 161-169 A.D./C.E.

**Vera: **Russian for "faith", although they pronounce it _VYEH-ruh _(the "e" is said as "ye", like "yes".)

**Ftacna: **Pronounced _FTACH-nuh, _with the "a" as in "father", this name is based upon chess grandmaster Lubomir Ftacnik from Slovakia. Why did I modify his last name to be Vera's middle name? See below:

**Scheveningen: **A chess defense, or series of moves, at which Mr. Ftacnik is a highly-trained virtuoso.

**Astrid: **Scandinavian name meaning "fair" or "beautiful goddess."

**Burya: **Russian for "storm".

**Alder: **Leah's last name, a type of tree. I thought it fitting since she was from District Seven.

**Duvetyn: **Filip's last name, a silk-like fabric. Can you guess his District, although I didn't specify it? J

**Chrysolite: **A bright green gem, typically lighter than a peridot. I chose it because green is envy's shade.

**Bezel: **A round or circular setting for a gem.

**Celeste: **From "celestial", meaning "heavenly". Chillingly enough, this is where Celeste is in the story.

**Via: **Latin for "way", or "by way of." I thought it apropos for a last name for a Transportation District girl.

**Cassie: **From "Cassandra", the Greek soothsayer who was always right, but whom nobody believed.

**Bedistor: **The name of a random (and fictional) electronic part in a computer game that I once played.

**Devon Carter: **The first name that popped into my head for a male tribute who was Vera's ally. _Derp. _

**President Achlon: **See "Evadne Achlys" in Anla'shok's _Checkmate _series for more information.

_**~ Thank you for reading and reviewing! ~**_


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